Hard frozen in some time-plagued realm
till purity can overwhelm
the seed of beauty turns in sleep
and sprouts a root, from somewhere deep
then sends a shoot to wind through rocks
as something new towards daylight stalks.
Ready now to face the light
it tears apart its safe, soft night.
And while the making lingers long
when silence turns the birds to song
a bit more truth endures a birth
to, small and green, adorn the earth
and also lighten, just a bit
this piece of fate on which I sit.
Carol Casey lives in Blyth, Ontario, Canada. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has appeared in The Leaf, The Prairie Journal, Synaeresis, The Plum Tree Tavern and others, including a number of anthologies, most recently, Much Madness, Divinest Sense, Tending the Fire and i am what becomes of broken branch.